Lipstick Apology

by Jennifer Jabaley

  THE DOORMAN SMILED AT ME knowingly, and I wondered if he remembered me. I’m sure he knew Owen’s parents weren’t home yet. I felt a flush of embarrassment but then reminded myself that Owen and I were just planning a nice quiet afternoon of getting to know each other better. Remember Trent’s mantra: My body is a temple. Georgia would be so proud. Nothing is wrong with some kissing. A little k issing, a little fumbling around, then maybe I’d suggest a round of Scrabble.

  I knocked on Owen’s door, and immediately it swung open. I barely had time to notice how amazing he looked in his black hoodie sweatshirt because in a flash he grabbed my jacket at the waist and pulled me into the foyer.

  His hands were in my hair, steering my face up, then he was kissing me. He kicked the door closed with his foot and pressed me up against the wall. He opened the buttons of my jacket with lightning speed, not even looking. He was too busy kissing, kissing, kissing me.

  Where is all the fumbling?

  Owen kissed with intent, and a bit of rough, excitement, and it made my tender jaw ache somewhat, just enough for me to pull back slightly. His lips moved away from my mouth and found my neck, where his little kisses sent sparks of electricity down my spine.

  He’s kissing my neck! I thought they only did that in movies and on Georgia’s nutty soap. I certainly never saw my dad kiss my mom’s neck. My eyes popped open. Now is definitely not the time to start thinkingabout Mom and Dad. Oh my God, I bet they’re watching my every move—hovering in a ghost-like presence in this enormous forty-foot ceiling. At least with the Big Guy, I could hope he was distracted, pondering the political crisis in the Middle East or weeping about world famine, but now I couldn’t lift the idea that my parents’ eyes were everywhere.

  My eyes stayed open as Owen kissed my earlobe. I needed to think about something other than my parents’ voyeuristic opportunities. I examined the foyer. It looked exactly as I remembered it, with a mahogany table supporting an enormous vase of colorful flowers towering up. I tried to force my eyes closed, but I was transfixed, staring at a pair of pulpy centers of two gerber daisies leaning toward my head. Huge yellow flower eyes staring down at me like the eyes of God. Or my mother.

  My body is a temple.

  I gently pushed Owen away. “Now, that’s what I call a hello!” I said playfully.

  Owen smiled, took my hand, and led me into the living room. He sat down in the middle of the couch. I sat down, leaving a little cooling-off space between us.

  He turned toward me with an expression I’ve seen on Georgia’s face when she’s about to nosedive into a piece of chocolate cake. While I was flattered to seem so . . . edible, I was also nervous at the direction this afternoon was taking. Everything was moving too quickly. Seventeen said, Spend time getting to know your crush before making the decision to get physical. The truth was, sometimes I felt like I didn’t know Owen at all. I knew he was the captain of the swim team. He was an only child. He liked to travel. He liked waffles. That was definitely not enough. I pulled away, yanking my one leg up under the other.

  “So,” I said. “How was your Thanksgiving?”

  He seemed suspended at a forty-five-degree angle, aiming for my lips, momentarily confused. “Um, boring. Typical. Ya know, family stuff.” He straightened up. “And you?” he asked, not convincing me that he really wanted an answer.

  I decided to answer anyway.

  “Well, it was tough, I guess, being the first holiday without my parents.” A lump stuck in my throat for a minute. It was so easy to talk about my parents with Anthony, why did I feel so self-conscious bringing it up with Owen?

  “Uh-huh,” he said with a small sigh.

  “I didn’t even eat turkey,” I said, my eyes getting a little moist.

  “Turkey’s overrated,” Owen said, leaning over and kissing me on the mouth. He kissed me more gently this time and suddenly, Thanksgiving was a distant memory. My body felt all chilled and on fire all at the same time. His hands slid onto my waist. The coldness of his hands startled me and I giggled like a schoolgirl. Get a grip!

  Slowly, his hands started to slide over my stomach.

  I hesitated, then grabbed his hands. “Owen,” I whispered, shaking my head. “No.”

  “Oh, come on, please?” He groaned like a puppy.

  Temptation crept over me. My body doesn’t HAVE to be a temple . . .

  His hands resumed their ascent.

  I’m sure Owen wasn’t accustomed to girls stopping him. Why would they? He’s gorgeous! Who in their right mind would stop him? It wasn’t that I wanted to stop him, necessarily, I needed to stop him. I wasn’t exactly sure why. All I knew was that in the last several months, so much of me had been taken away: my parents, my home, my old life. How much more could I possibly give up without losing every fraction of the girl I was? But if I stopped him, would he lose interest in me and turn to the whole line of girls who certainly would not object to his rising hands?

  “I’m sorry,” I said, flustered. “But I don’t think my parents would like it.”

  WHAT??!!

  “We don’t have to tell them,” he said, kissing my ear.

  “Sorry,” I whispered again.

  He dropped his head into the crook of my neck. He lay there for a second, like he was in pain, which actually, from what I read in Seventeen, might be true. Then he lifted himself back into a seated position on the couch.

  Owen found the remote and flipped through the channels in silence. He pounded the remote buttons at lightning speed, not even stopping to see what program was on. My God, he can’t even commit to a channel—there’s no way he’s staying with me.

  “Look,” I said. “Seinfeld is on.”

  He didn’t respond, but he left it on that channel and set the remote down on the coffee table. He didn’t laugh at any of the funny parts.

  The air felt tense. He adjusted and readjusted his position on the couch.

  “Oh,” I said, reaching into my purse and retrieving the photo. “I kind of broke the frame in your bathroom the other night.” I handed him the replacement frame.

  Owen looked at the picture. He rolled his eyes. “Every year my mom makes me do volunteer work.” He shook his head as if to say, What a waste of time, but I had studied that photo for hours and on his sunlit face was a genuine smile and unmistakable pride.

  Owen’s phone rang. He glanced at it, then flipped it open.

  “E, wut up?” Owen said. “Yeah, yeah. She’s here,” he said, turning away from me slightly and lowering his voice. “No, man. Not exactly.”

  My face flamed. True, Owen could have been talking about anything, but I had the distinct feeling that I was the topic of his negative tone.

  Suddenly, I knew why there were so many sad love songs. Being a girlfriend was hard.

  “No way, really?” Owen’s voice rose an octave. “Dude, that’s perfect.”

  Well, at least someone was making Owen happy.

  “Right. Cool. Later.” He clicked the phone shut, then turned back toward me, smiling and visibly happier. “That was Ethan. His parents got in a fight and decided to take a makeup trip to some Biltmore place down in North Carolina.”

  “Oh, I read that they have a huge gingerbread house display every Christmas!” I interrupted.

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “Okay. Whatever. Point is: they’ll be gone for a week. So next weekend, party at Ethan’s!” He leaned over and hugged me, his arms clenching me with enthusiasm. I pressed my chest against his and felt the joy of a hug. Just a hug—with no added intentions.

  I decided to leave on a good note, while Owen was still pumped about the upcoming party. I faked an early curfew and left.

  The minute I stepped out of the cab, I called Lindsey.

  “I’m just so afraid he’s going to dump me because I’m keeping things very PG-13, if you know what I mean,” I explained.

  “Well, if he dumps you for that reason, then he’s not worth your time, is he?” Lindsey replied.

  I woul
d have expected reassurance of that nature from Georgia, but it was so nice to know that I had someone here, who knew Owen’s status, who understood how hot he was and still validated my choice.

  “Thanks, Lindsey,” I said, clicking the phone shut and getting on the elevator.

  When I opened the door to the apartment, all the lights were on, but Jolie was nowhere in sight. I dropped my purse on the counter and walked back toward my bedroom. A soft love song drifted from Jolie’s room.

  Gross. I could only imagine. I guess Jolie doesn’t have my willpower, I thought with a chuckle.

  I was about to walk into my room when Jolie’s door opened and instead of my seeing two lovers entangled, Jolie emerged, puffy-eyed and makeup-less. She was dressed in dark jeans, a tight, white, button-down shirt, and had huge silver hoops in her ears and sky-high stilettos on her feet. She looked like she just came from a hot date, but her nose was red and she undoubtedly had been crying.

  I turned toward her. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  “Oh,” she said, dabbing at her eyes. “Nothing. Really, I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “How was Owen’s? Want some hot cocoa?” She said this as if hot cocoa was the answer to all the world’s problems.

  “Sure,” I said, following her into the kitchen and sitting at the table.

  Jolie pulled out some mugs and rifled through the cabinets. “Want some marshmallows? I love marshmallows with hot cocoa.”

  “Okay, but if you’re aiming for Suzy Sunshine, the tear-stained cheeks and Kleenex hanging from your nose are giving you away.”

  She dabbed her nose reflexively.

  “I’m just kidding,” I said. “But jeez, tell me what happened. Did hot party guy never show up?”

  Jolie put the mugs down and sat across from me. She sighed. “He did. He showed up right on time.”

  “Well, what then? Did he bring his wife with him or something?”

  Jolie laughed. Then her face crumpled and she covered her face in her hands. She looked so small and fragile, sniffing and dabbing at her eyes. “Your mom did it right,” Jolie said. “She picked the right one.”

  My stomach clenched. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m superficial, I know.” Jolie sniffled. “It’s my main flaw. I’ve always cared too much about good looks and money. Jill. Your mom.” She shook her head slightly. “Your mom valued honesty and a good, solid companion. And at a young age, too. God! She was so smart! I’ve spent all these years following my heart to the charming and attractive men, living life like it’s a fairy tale.” Her eyes welled up again. “But then one day, I wake up and I’m thirty-eight, standing in a bar, listening to my Mexican Prince Charming feed me the same lines that used to make my knees go weak while he’s staring at the butt of a slutty, twenty-year-old cocktail waitress. And it finally dawns on me: that to these kind of men, I am replaceable, a one-night stand.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I’ve spent all these years being charmed but not loved. I just wish I had done it right a long time ago and found a true companion, like your mom did.”

  My mind was spinning. After reading those letters, who was to even say that Mom was happy with her choice of a companion? Perhaps Mom and Jolie were more alike than she realized.

  “How do you know?” I said. “I mean, how do you know that Mom and Dad really were good companions? If they were, then why did she kiss someone else?”

  Jolie looked at me like she was trying to read deep in the corners of my mind. Her eyes were so intense and then, in a move uncharacteristic of her, she took my hands and squeezed them. Without looking away, she said, “Your mother was happy, Emily. She was happy with your father, she was happy with her life, and most of all, she was happy with you.”

  chapter twenty-six

  AT SCHOOL ON MONDAY, no one was talking about Thanksgiving turkey. Everyone was talking about Ethan’s upcoming party.

  “Oh my God, Ethan’s party, two years ago, was AMAZING,” Andi said, dipping a celery stalk into her tub of low-fat ranch.

  “It was out of control,” Lindsey chimed, in setting her lunch tray down. “I swear, I think at one point five hundred people were there.”

  “I know,” I said. “Owen told me.”

  “Speaking of Owen,” Andi said. “Have you decided what you’re going to get him for Christmas?”

  Ugh. How to pick a gift for the guy who you’ve only actually gone out with three times? Not to mention, the guy who has everything? “No,” I said. “I have no idea. Any suggestions?”

  The three of us turned to look over at the guys’ table.

  Andi gave a little wave and smile in their direction. “All he wants for Christmas,” she sang, “is YOU . . .”

  My stomach flipped. Did she mean that in the literal sense? Had Owen spouted to Aidan that my friskiness was halting and borderline prudish? Oh my God, can Owen be expecting my virginity wrapped up in a red bow as his stocking stuffer?

  “What are they doing?” Andi asked, eyeing the guys as they walked over toward the corner of the lunchroom, away from their usual table.

  Lindsey turned toward me. “I think it’s always a safe bet to get guys electronics. You know how men are all just little boys at heart. They love their toys.”

  I smiled at Lindsey.

  “Seriously,” Andi said, a little shrill. “What ARE they doing?”

  Lindsey and I followed Andi’s gaze across the room.

  The guys huddled in a circle. Then Ethan emerged, walking solo toward a table in the corner of the cafeteria. There, sitting by herself, was Carly, eating a hamburger and reading a book.

  “Who is he going to talk to?” Andi asked no one in particular, as if it was a crime for Ethan to talk to anyone outside our little circle of friends. “His lab partner?”

  “Maybe they’re talking about the project,” I suggested.

  Andi’s shoulders relaxed a bit, but her eyes never left them.

  Carly was so engrossed in her novel she didn’t notice Ethan’s presence until he tapped her on the shoulder and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Ethan laughed and then Carly laughed, but she covered her mouth with her hand, as if embarrassed. He sat down next to her.

  “What in the world?” Andi squinted toward them. “Look at her! Did she just offer him a fry? Oh my God, I think she just offered him a fry.”

  I wanted to say, What’s the big deal? But I just looked on.

  Ethan leaned over and whispered something in Carly’s ear. A red flush rose in her cheeks, then with her big, brown eyes turned up toward him, she nodded yes.

  Andi’s eyes darted from Ethan back to the guys, who now were seated.

  Ethan got up, gave Carly two friendly taps on the shoulder, then returned to his friends. They walked out to the patio, Ethan’s head sticking up half a foot higher.

  Andi grabbed her phone and frantically text messaged Aidan.

  A few minutes later, Ethan, Aidan, and Owen walked over toward our table.

  “What’s up?” Aidan said, leaning over to peck Andi on the cheek.

  “What was all that about?” Andi asked, nodding over toward Carly, who was once again engrossed in her book.

  “What do you mean?” Aidan asked innocently, but with the slightest hint of a smile.

  “Just chem stuff,” Ethan said, then looked toward me. “Man, this project bites.”

  “Definitely.” I looked into Ethan’s eyes and wondered if he noticed all those times Carly stared at him in class. I wondered if he really talked about chemistry, or if he only went over there so his friends could laugh at how flustered she was around him.

  After lunch, Owen and I were talking at my locker. He reached down and took my hand and I thought maybe he didn’t mind a PG-13 relationship. Carly walked past us, heading in the opposite direction. She looked up for a second, a small smile directed toward me.

  After she passed out of sight, Owen grinned. “Hey,” he said to me. “Ethan invited Carly to his party.”

  “MY FAITH IS RESTORED in humankind,” I said th
e next day in chemistry class.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t buy it,” Anthony said, placing a row of test tubes on the lab bench.

  “You don’t buy it? What do you mean, you don’t buy it? There’s nothing to buy. It’s a fact. Ethan invited Carly and she’s accepted.”

  “Look,” Anthony said. “I know you and Owen are all . . .” He made a manic sweeping hand gesture.

  “What the heck does THAT mean?”

  He sighed. “I know that you and Owen are together, and I’m not saying anything about him, okay? All I’m saying is that I know Ethan and I don’t think the invitation is legit.”

  We both looked over at Carly.

  “Looks like she’s on your accessories bandwagon too,” Anthony said.

  “What?”

  He reached over and fingered my mom’s pearl necklace. “The pearls.” He nodded toward Carly.

  She had on a single-strand pearl necklace. Hmm.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed,” Anthony said, gesturing around the room.

  I followed his hand and noticed five other girls wearing pearls. I wondered how long the girls had been wearing the pearls. Had they liked the look and decided to copy it? Or was it worthy of imitation only after I became Owen’s girlfriend?

  “Well,” I said. “I think Ethan’s invitation to Carly is legit. You just don’t want to root for the underdog.” I used a spatula to scoop up some of the yellow powder that was in a small bowl.

  “I’m pulling for the underdog as much as anyone,” he said, grabbing my hand. “Hey, do not pour that into the beaker.” He pulled the beaker over to the other side of the lab bench. “Do you want to blow up the whole room? What’s with you and explosions?”

  “Oops,” I said, laughing and spilling the yellow powder all over the bench.

  “Jeez, you’re a major hazard,” Anthony teased.

  Mrs. Klein announced it was time to clean up.

  “Yeah, no joke,” Anthony muttered under his breath, and pointed to the mess I had made.